


love me to death (or don't give me anything)

by blake0tyler



Series: there will be dark days (swear that they'll be short) [1]
Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Character Study, Everyone Else Is Here But In The Background, F/F, First Time, I love these two with my whole heart, Sexual Tension, an exploration of religion if you squint your eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler
Summary: And she does—she does hate you.Isn’t that where all this heat is coming from? This burning in your body every time she looks at you?//Toni & Shelby [ 1x06 - 1x09 ]
Relationships: Shelby Goodkind/Toni Shalifoe
Series: there will be dark days (swear that they'll be short) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075400
Comments: 54
Kudos: 1094





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:
> 
> I watched this whole show in less than two days and then this just spilled out of me today. All mistakes are mine. Title from Ryan Beatty's "Casino" which is totally an angry/sad Toni song. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.

Her knees dig hard into your hips, eyes flashing with anger, with panic. She clasps her hand right over your mouth, so tightly that you want to bite it off, want to disappear into your body, want to _breathe—_

“ _Swallow the fucking pill_.”

Her voice, close on your ear, makes your vision go black. She presses, presses—until you’re coughing violently, spasming under her until her weight lifts from your body, and everything suddenly feels like falling. Like tipping right over the edge of a cliff into something dark and dangerous and painful.

Another pretty girl to ruin your fucking heart.

You scream her name but no sound comes out.

:::

After, when the water has finally hydrated you and you’ve come back to yourself enough to realize what has happened, she’s dead quiet. Doesn’t say a single word to you, doesn’t even look. She just sits by the fire with her arms wrapped around her knees like she wants to evaporate into the smoky air, and all it does, is fuel your anger.

When Martha goes down, you lose it.

“ _What’s happening to her_?”

“I don’t know,” Dot is saying. “Pepto might have not been the right thing.”

“So, what do we do now, Dottie?”

“I said _I don’t know_ —”

“Figure something out!” There’s a desperation to your voice, a crying quality that makes you feel weak and angry and _useless_. Shelby shifts closer, reaches as though to touch Martha’s body and you snap, turning on her. “Why did you do it? Why did you give me the last one?”

Her eyes lock on yours. “Toni...”

“You wasted it on me!”

“Toni, I did not—”

“Look at her!” Your voice cracks and you’re so, _so_ angry at her, so out of control and panicked at the sight of Martha’s body. “She’s a _good_ person. And she cares about people, and people care about her, and she has a whole family, and you threw _me_ a lifeline.”

Heat flashes in Shelby’s eyes.

“Toni, you were dying,” she snaps.

It’s like a wave of fury through your muscles, making everything tremble. “Who cares!”

She’s shocked into silence and it cuts the last of your resolve. _Don’t you dare,_ you want to scream at Shelby. _Don’t you dare pretend like you—_

“I don’t matter!” The words are ripped roughly from your throat, like you have no control over them. “Fuck, I don’t matter, I don’t...”

Next to you, you’re vaguely aware of Leah speaking, of her saying something about the meds and the forest, and you can feel Dot rising to her feet, can feel the whole dynamic shift. But all you can do is cling to Martha, hold onto her as tightly as you can, while your mind spins and spins.

You don’t pray, you never have.

But you say the words, whisper them — _I don’t matter, I don’t matter_ — like you can will the change this way. Like you can take whatever is left of your own fucked up existence and manifest your insignificance, so that Martha will be the one to make it through instead.

Shelby’s hand reaches and for one shaky, out of control, counter-intuitive second, you wish she would touch your shoulder, your elbow, anything.

But she doesn’t.

She just shudders—like something inside her own body is breaking, too.

:::

You don’t speak to her, not even a word, and then the tide comes and washes all over camp like it can smooth the edges of your anger, but no.

Fuck her. 

She can do whatever she thinks she should do to repent for her fucking mistakes — clean clothes, forage for food, pulling goddamn suitcases from the sea and handing out stuff like she’d goddamn Oprah. It’s not going to change a single thing. She can bat her pretty dark eyelashes all she wants. You still want _nothing_ to do with her.

Leah, for one, doesn’t seem eager to let Shelby off the hook either.

The way it explodes, though — well, even you didn’t see that coming.

“I’m a fake bitch with dentures,” Shelby snarls at all of you. “Just one more reason to hate me.” She lets out a choked-off, screeching laugh and looks right at you when she says, “Not that you needed any more.”

It hooks into your chest, the look in her eyes. Somewhere right behind your ribs, stinging and uncomfortable.

You watch her storm off towards the edge of the forest and you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Fuck, that was mental,” you say, quietly, only so Martha can hear. If your voice wavers slightly, you don’t know why.

Martha just gives you a look. Something tired and defeated, like she doesn’t even know how to respond to that.

You take a breath, trying to clear your head.

But the look on Shelby’s face right before she’d walked away is impossible to blink away.

:::

When you find her, a little bit later, your heart shoots up in your throat with a rush of sudden nerves you want to curse yourself for.

_Jesus._

What the fuck is wrong with you?

It’s an open space, you can go wherever you want, but still you feel compelled to explain yourself. “Just getting a jump on the firewood situation.”

“I only came here to get some space,” she says, after a moment. “I’m not, like... up to anything.”

That feeling again — that aching hook behind your ribs. You know what it’s like to be accused of shit you didn’t have anything to do with, and sure, she doesn’t deserve any sympathy, least of all from you, but—

“Hey, I never took you for a special ops rat. That’s Leah’s shit.”

She scoffs. “Right. You just think I’m an asshole.”

It’s not wrong exactly. You do think she’s—

But the overriding pleasure at being called an _asshole_ , of all things, by Shelby Goodkind, almost makes you laugh. You whistle, unable to resist. “You say your prayers with that mouth?”

She doesn’t turn, but her shoulders unclench a tiny bit, like the hint of relief, and you don’t know why, but something about it makes you want to press on. Makes you want to see if you can get her to...

You don’t know exactly what.

Look at you, maybe?

React, at the very least.

“Do you ever play pranks with those fangs of yours? You know, take ‘em out. Put ‘em on top of your brother’s lasagna when he’s not looking?”

She _does_ react. Glances at you for just a second. “No.”

“You should think about it. It could be a dope signature move.” 

She looks at you for real now, but you didn’t ask for _that_ either, for full-on eye-contact, so you bend forward, reaching for new branches to add to the pile in your arms, vaguely aware that she’s getting to her feet, but not really willing to fully acknowledge it until—

“You know, my – my issues with—” She steadies herself with her hand against a tree. “Well, whatever, like, with who you are...”

 _Oh,_ you think. _Here we fucking go._

She meets your eyes, and says it softly, but clear enough so you hear every word. “I don’t hate you, Toni. You get that, right?”

You breathe in sharply through your nose, feeling the red of frustration rushing through your body, the simmering anger, already so close to the surface again.

“Yeah,” you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. “You actually do, though.”

And she does—she _does_ hate you.

Isn’t that where all this heat is coming from? This burning in your body every time she looks at you? 

“I saw your face,” you push on. “When shit got a little too gay for you. You fucking shuddered. I’m sorry, that’s hate. Least you could do is own it.”

It’s almost a dare. Something to steady this goddamn shaky feeling between you, this fire and tension, this white hot back-and-forth exchange of control. As long as she hates you, Christian and proud, you don’t even have to think about her. Don’t have to think about how much she does around here that makes things better. Don’t have to think about the fact that she shoved that pill down your throat like she _cared,_ like you—

You snap out of it, pushing the thought down, down, down.

Shelby is still looking at you, but you busy yourself with the wood.

“Let me help,” she says finally, and you think you hate her a little bit more.

:::

The worst thing—

The worst thing about her is that _somehow,_ still, she manages to get under your skin. To break you open in one way or another with her fucking white girl problems. Her baby teeth and her pageant issues and, God help her, expectations. She pulls on something deep inside of you that you are so used to running away from. That, so far, you’ve been pretty good at keeping at bay with other people. That you forge into jokes or sarcasm or fighting, but, somehow, with her, turns into this: your voice shaking and your fingers trembling, as you confess things you don’t even want her to know, things she doesn’t even _deserve_ to know.

“Yeah, well, my dad’s been a no-show since day one, and my mom’s in and out of rehab like it’s the fucking White Castle,” you say. “So no one expects shit from me. Doesn’t feel great either.” The air feels thin between you and the words just keep on coming. “Do you know how many field trips I’ve had to bail on ‘cause no one’s been there to sign my permission slip? You know, and I—” It gets stuck for a second. “I don’t give a fuck about going to the planetarium, you know. It just would have been nice to have someone there to say that I could.”

“Yeah,” she says, breathy and quiet. “But, like, you don’t...”

“But _what_?” You push forward. “Shelby, if you’re trying to out-sad me, it’s a losing fucking battle.”

Something flashes in her eyes, something harder as her voice rises. “But you’re free, don’t you see that? You don’t have to answer to anybody.”

It sounds desperate, like her mind is racing, like she’s trying to get something across to you here, but, _for fuck’s sake._

“And neither do you!” you bite out, everything snatched loose now. “Not right now, anyway. I mean, you’re on a deserted island. A million miles away from whatever bullshit expectations that you left behind. You know, you’re free here, Shelby, and if you’re not taking advantage of that, then I don’t know what the fuck to tell you.”

You expect her to snap at you. You expect her to slap you even—that’s how much wild energy is radiating off her body.

Instead, she hooks her hands around your neck, pulls you in and _kisses_ you. 

It slams the breath from your lungs, slams every bit of anger out of you in the space of a moment. The impulse seems to take both of you by surprise, and you sway, almost stumble into each other—your fingers tightening on the fabric of that goddamn grey crop top that’s been driving you insane for days.

Shelby’s lips are chapped, but her mouth is like fire, and despite everything, despite the shock, you’re kissing back, pulling her in closer instead of pushing her off.

Her fingers slide over the nape of your neck, thumb hard against your cheekbone. She kisses like she _needs_ it, and you can’t do anything but give in. You kiss her back, the edge of your pinky finger brushing against the soft skin of her midriff, stroking unintentionally—

Shelby breaks away from you with a start. Her green eyes are blown wide. She looks shell-shocked and panicked.

And then she _runs._

:::

She can’t even look at you, after.

There’s the fight and Dot snapping all of you back to reality, the exhausted and painful way the realization seems to dawn on all of you at the same time; that you’re nowhere near being saved. And you want to talk to her, want to check if she’s okay, but she’s not even—

“Here, boiled and cooled if you’re thirsty.”

She doesn’t take it, breathes out, _I’m fine,_ like she’s anything but and just sits with her arms around herself like she’ll break if anyone reaches out a hand to touch her. 

All the while, your mind keeps racing, keeps playing over what happened in the woods. Something feels like it’s clicked into place in your subconscious, but you’re too scared to think it clearly. Too scared to play everything back; the looks and the constant talk about the boyfriend and how maybe, all this time, what you felt from her as hate was actually—

Shelby bows her head deeper to her knees and you look away from her, forcing a smile at Martha instead.

You’re fine. It’s going to be fine. Maybe she just needs a moment. Maybe she’s already forgotten about the whole damn kiss. Maybe she’s not even thinking about it.

You take a breath, thinking, almost forcefully, _It doesn’t matter. You’re going to be just fine_.

:::

 _Fine_ , to Shelby, apparently means getting fucked up drunk.

 _Fine,_ to Shelby, apparently means putting the image of _bath jets at our home jacuzzi_ right into your fucking mind.

“Love me an orgasm,” she says and you want to laugh, but instead your whole body tightens with a mix of dread and... something else.

The fog in your mind doesn’t seem to want to clear, but still, you lean over to Dot, unable to keep the edge from your voice as you say, “Jesus, she’s trashed.”

If it sounds just a hint accusatory, Dot doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Yeah... That’s a little bit my bad.”

It doesn’t help to settle your anxiety. In fact, it only gets worse when Dot and Fatin start to joke around about living in L.A. and being lovers—and you don’t _want_ to look at Shelby, but your gaze drifts over, just for a second.

She gets to her feet.

“What do you say,” she says, slurred. “That I do what I do best and suggest some fucking games—”

The high starts to wear off when you’re in the water. You make yourself focus on the rest, on pushing Rachel into the waves and making fun of the shitty handshake that Leah’s trying to come up with. You make yourself sit with Martha and talk and laugh and joke. You’re decidedly not looking at Shelby, until you accidentally do.

She finds you only moments later.

“Hey, what are you—um—” She gestures vaguely. “What are you doing over here?”

Your heart is racing. “Just collecting some sand. Kinda felt like I should take a part of this place back with me. Not sure why.”

She glances down. “Well, that makes two of us. Zero clue why you’d want any souvenir from this godforsaken place.”

There’s something tense in her voice, below the alcohol, and it stings, so much that you suddenly want to cut right to the chase. You hate feeling this out of control. You hate feeling so _aware_ of someone the whole damn time without even knowing what they—

“What do you want, Shelby?”

Her eyes flick to yours. “What do you mean, what do I want?”

“Okay, you avoid me all day, and now you’re hovering.”

It’s sharp now too, your own voice. You can’t help it. She makes you— she drives you absolutely fucking—

“Can’t really figure out what you’re doing apart from getting hammered, so you probably should just tell me.”

“What I want,” she says, “is to know exactly what you and Martha were talking about.”

That doesn’t explain fucking anything. “Well, she’s ripped out of her skull right now, so food or maybe the cloud that she thought looked like her uncle.”

“You—” Shelby’s voice catches. “You told her, didn’t you? You told her about—about the whole...”

So, she _has_ been thinking about it, then.

You stare at her, incredulously.

“ _Did you tell her_ —” Shelby chokes out, all panic now.

“No!” Your voice is trembling. “Fuck, I would never!” 

“Okay,” she rushes out, not looking at you, immediately going full one eighty. “Because you’re that ashamed?”

Her voice is small and shaky and you know a thing or two about self-loathing, but _this?_ You can’t believe this is even happening. You can’t believe she actually thinks you would just... That you would treat it this carelessly.

Like, you don’t know what it’s like to lose your goddamn mind over who you’re attracted to and whether that’s allowed or not.

“No, you are obviously the one with the shame,” you say. She still can’t meet your eyes, looks so hurt and lost and shaken. “Okay, I’m not going to lecture you on how or why or how fast you should figure things out for yourself...” She looks up at you, then. “But, you know, all your hateful church shit, is not gonna help you figure out who you—”

She grabs you, hands on your wrists, rough and sudden, and for one shocked-out-of-your-mind moment, you think she might kiss you again, right here in front of everyone.

But instead she bites out, “I know _exactly_ who I am. I cannot wait to get home and get back to her.”

That’s how she leaves you, right there on the sand, silenced for once.

:::

When she breaks down, she cuts at her hair with Fatin’s dull scissors and cries out, _I don’t want it, I don’t want it_ , and you think maybe you were wrong about her.

You think maybe she does know what it’s like—to have bad things happen, to feel like you don’t matter, to be scared of losing control.

You know what that’s like. Your rages, your anger. How you always end up ruining things. Homes and families. Pretty girls with pretty smiles. Even on an island in the middle of fucking nowhere, you couldn’t go a month without fucking up someone’s life, could you?

Maybe you and Shelby are not that different, you think.

If you could, you would take the scissors from her hand and cut her hair off for her.

:::

The hunger makes everything mellow for the next few days. You’re so lost for energy that all you feel is heat and wind and a heaviness in your muscles that not even water can lift.

Sometimes, when you close your eyes, you can feel Shelby’s kiss all over again. Different versions of it, too. The hard, desperate surge of the real one—making your toes curl and your stomach flip every time you remember it. But also, soft, slow ones. How she’d smile into it, not worried at all. And then, pretty green eyes glinting in the sunlight; how she’d let you kiss her a bit more heatedly, with your tongue, with your whole body— 

It’s making you goddamn delirious.

Shelby, at least, seems to have found some of her composure. Which is why, when the suggestion of another food run comes up—

“Maybe I should ask her to come?” you say, hoping Martha won’t be able to tell that there’s a weird sort of flutter in your stomach as you say it.

Her eyes narrow a bit, corners of her mouth pulled up in a light smile.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, quickly brushing over it. “I’m not, like, cool with her... but, at this point, in this place, grudges are kind of childish?”

Martha grins. “I’m so proud of you, Toni.”

:::

The actual asking of it, goes over less smoothly.

“So, um,” you start, dropping to your knees right next to Shelby.

“Hey,” she says, lighter and breezier than you expected, and you get caught on it.

“Hi,” you say back, and you’re staring at her — the shy smile and the expectant look in her eyes — before realizing with a bit of a start that you’ve actually come over here, to get to a point. “So, um,” you go on. “You know that bit of forest where everything gets kind of hilly? By our first camp?”

She nods.

“You’re kind of—” You lick at your bottom lip. “I mean, you’re the one who’s always paying attention to where we’re going and stuff. Better than me, anyway. And Martha wants to go on a food run so I figured—” You gesture vaguely. “You know, since Martha wanted...”

There’s a twitch in Shelby’s mouth, almost amusement. “Martha?” she echoes.

“Well, I mean, me too,” you add, and _fuck,_ this is the worst, isn’t it? You thought you were pretty smooth, but apparently not eating anything for two days has turned you into a rambling mess in front of girls.

 _Shelby,_ your mind provides, unhelpful. _Not just any girl. Shelby._

“Anyway, let’s go?” you try.

Shelby laughs. “That needs some work.”

You get to your feet, impulsively reaching out a hand to help her up. “What?”

She takes it, palm hot against yours as she pulls herself to her feet. “You asking me for favors,” she says, corner of her mouth curled up in a smile.

It hums in the air between you for a moment, this sparking, teasing thing.

You roll your eyes and turn around to follow Martha into the woods, if only so Shelby doesn’t see the fucking _blush_ that’s rising on your cheeks.

:::

“How bad is it?” she says, about twenty minutes later, when her hair snatches on a branch.

You wish you could look away from her, but you can’t.

“Not bad,” you say, and then, because you can’t help it, you add, “I mean, it looks like you get your hair cut at a salon staffed by toddlers, but not bad.”

She smiles at you, and you almost say it.

_You’re so pretty I haven’t thought about anything else for days._

But thank fuck, Martha’s voice cuts through before you embarrass yourself like that, reminding you of the reason you’re out here in the first place. Unfortunately, the whole food situation gets out of control quicker than you expected.

Shelby and Martha go back on forth on reasons for hunting down the goat or the deer or whatever, and before you know it, you’re saying, _Marty, it’s not about sides_ , but Martha’s already stalking off into the opposite direction.

You haven’t been alone with her since the kiss.

It’s quiet at first as you track deeper into the woods. Shelby keeps glancing at you and it’s distracting as fuck—making you almost stumble over your own feet or smack right into trees and bushes any time you meet her eyes. At some point, you decide that it’s safer to walk behind her, though that’s distracting in its own way, with all the sudden freedom to stare at the back of her head or the flex of her thighs as she climbs higher. You try not to notice any of it, but it’s impossible. 

When she starts singing Macklemore, you can’t stop grinning. She’s looser than she’s been in a while. You still feel out of your depth a bit, but Shelby is smiling right back you, responding to whatever you’re saying in that damn Texas accent that you’ve somehow started to find attractive as hell.

“Do you think Martha’s going to be okay?” she asks, when Martha chases the goat away, and it’s just Shelby and you, alone again, for the second time in a row today.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.” You’re out of breath, still climbing higher. “This place, like, makes you face your demons or something and it turns out your demons are really fucking ugly.”

“Yeah,” she says, sounding resigned, and you instantly feel like you’ve said the wrong thing.

“No, I didn’t mean—” You turn to look at her. “I didn’t mean yours, I just meant, like, everybody’s.”

She gives you a hesitant smile, nodding kind of shyly. “I know.”

And that’s when you see it. “No fucking way.”

“Oh my God.”

“ _Lychees_.”

:::

It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

The juice is dripping down your chin, down your fingers, but you don’t care. You have never felt such relief and such excitement at the same time. Right next to you, Shelby is licking the tips of her fingers and the sight of it burns low in your body.

Again and again, you break the lychees open desperately, sucking at the flesh of the fruit, all modesty right out of the window, and—

It makes you laugh.

“What?” Shelby’s eyes are going wide. “What’s funny?”

“You’ve, ah—” You wipe your own hand across your face. “You’ve just got, uh—”

You chuckle, catching your breath as you bring your thumb up to run it up her jaw, soft on the side of her mouth. 

Shelby’s exhale hits against the side of your thumb, and all of a sudden, there’s so much tension between you that you can barely breathe.

Her eyes meet yours.

You are rooted to the spot, pulse racing, hands suddenly slightly clammy in a way that has nothing to do with the heat, unable to look away from her. You feel shy and bold, all at the same time, everything _just_ on the edge of happening as you’re breathing in and out, waiting to see if she’ll—

She closes the space between you, slides her hands up your neck, just like last time.

When it happens, though, it’s nothing like last time.

Shelby kisses you softly, intentionally. You can feel the slight tremor in her body, the way she melts into you after a second. Your mind goes blank; she takes everything from you with the lightest, sweetest press of her mouth.

When you pull back, the seconds drag on. All you want to do is kiss her again, but you need to know, need to know if—

It takes everything to keep your voice steady. “Are you sure?”

Up close like this, you can see her eyelashes flutter. She’s so unfairly pretty. You feel like you’re on the edge of the cliff, feel like you’re about to crash all over again—

But then she kisses you again.

She tastes like lychees and heat, and you smile into it quietly, smile when she says, “I’m sure”, right against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. And then your hands slide up, slide to her neck, into her hair, and you _kiss her, kiss her, kiss her._


	2. II.

She’s got her hands on the hem of your top before you fully register it, fingertips skimming softly up the skin of your ribs as she drags it up and over your head. You shiver a little, hot skin getting exposed to the slightest breeze, but mostly because of Shelby’s confident determination.

You’ve not seen her like this before, daring and focused. Her attention is all over you in a way that makes it hard to think. You want to close the gap and kiss her again, but she’s already reaching for her own top, pulling the flimsy yellow thing right over her head—and, yes, you wanted to be the one to do it, but you’d much rather let her set the pace for...

For... wherever this is headed.

She kisses you again, both of you in your bras now. It shouldn’t be a big deal. You’ve all seen each other in various stages of undress over the past few weeks.

You, personally, have also spent an obnoxious amount of time getting worked up over this very thing she’s wearing, in all of its pink glory. Have been getting hot-headed over the fact that little miss Texas has got a fucking _navel piercing_ —something you’ve had to force yourself not to pay attention to, not to look at, not to think about, no matter how much she riled you up.

Right now, you feel riled up in a completely different way.

She throws her top on the forest ground, and it’s not about her bra, but it’s about the fact that she _undressed_ to make you see it, and that makes all the difference.

When she kisses you again, it’s with a slow and deepening heat. Her tongue flicks against yours and you nearly stumble. It feels a bit wild, a bit uncoordinated. You’ve got one of your hands flat against the bare skin of her back, but it suddenly doesn’t feel close enough. Both of you are covered in dust and sweat, but you don’t care. You want to feel as much of her as possible.

She’s a good kisser. Not that you’re surprised, exactly. But you didn’t expect it to feel like _this._ Didn’t expect the heat of her enthusiasm to make you feel so lightheaded. She tastes like salt and sand and something so, so addictive that you feel high on it, making you hungry and delirious.

It’s not the lychees, it’s all her.

“Is this okay?” you breathe out against her mouth.

In response, Shelby presses her body flush against yours.

All of her nerves seem to soften against your touch. Every time your mouths meet, she gets bolder about it, and you can’t quite believe it’s happening like this.

This stunning, soft, _complex_ girl— 

Kissing you like you’ve not been kissed before. With a wild sort of abandon that only comes from years of holding back. Eager and fast. Hungry, almost.

You know you should try to slow it down, know that you should try your very best to keep it PG or whatever—because isn’t that Shelby’s whole thing?

You’re trying, you really are.

But _she’s_ the one who keeps pushing her hips forward, who pulls a bit on your ponytail, just enough to make your head fall back so she can lower her mouth to your neck. She licks at your pulse point and you feel it right between your legs.

_Jesus._

It’s impossible to think clearly. You want her hands all over you and you’re quickly starting to lose your cool. But still—

Boundaries.

You don’t want to scare her off.

You don’t want to do anything that will make her regret this.

Shelby’s nails dig into your back and you nearly moan. Her body is so burning hot against yours and you have to muster all of your control at once in the effort to keep your hands steady on her hips. She runs a teasing thumb right up your ribs and your whole body jerks forward into her touch. She says your name – _Toni_ – breathless and gasped out in the air between you, and all you want to do is push her right against the fucking tree and—

“We can stop if you want,” you manage to get out.

Shelby breaks away from you, and the whole thing backfires at once.

You’re so dazed that it takes you a moment to read the tension in her eyes.

“Look,” she says, then, eyes flashing, Texas curling right around the vowel. “If I’m doing it wrong—”

You’re so worked up you can barely speak. “W-what?”

“You’ve made your point, okay,” she snaps, staring at her hands. “I’m getting the hint. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m really that fucking bad at it, or if you’re just bored or—” Her voice cuts short, and the edge of insecurity is all over her voice when she adds, “Do you really not want to?”

You’re so confused and thrown off, still trying to wrap your head around—

“Want to what?”

“Have sex with me,” she bites out.

It’s like a punch to the chest. Shelby is blushing so hard that you can see the glow of it under her sunburn.

Your heart leaps up into your throat. She should feel how fast your heart is racing. Your voice sounds wrecked, all from a little bit of kissing. “Sex?”

Her expression hardens.

“Forget about it,” she snaps. “You probably have, like, dozens of girls to fuck, back in Minnesota, and I’m just some Jesus-obsessed—”

“ _Shelby_.” The harsh way she says it cuts right through you. “Of course I... Of course I want to.” You know you’re blushing, too. “God, I just... I didn’t know you wanted that.”

“Because I wasn’t doing it right?” Her eyes are wide. 

“No.” Your brow furrows. “Because... because it’s not...” You struggle to find the right words. “Because I figured you wouldn’t want to—with... with _me._ Because of the whole...” You inhale sharply, feel weird saying it out loud. “...marriage thing.”

Shelby blinks.

“Oh,” she says, then. “Right.”

The silence is tense. You can feel the phantom press of her kiss on your mouth, can feel the tingling through your entire body, how turned on you are, even with the abrupt turn of events.

Shelby looks like she’s thinking hard about something, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. It makes you step closer.

“Hey.” You brush your fingers against her wrist. “I’m sorry if you thought I didn’t want to. I...” You feel shy and hot all over. “I really do want to. And you’re, actually, like—like, _insanely_ good at...”

Shelby’s lips twitch.

“At what?” she says, after a second.

“You _know_ ,” you mumble. “Kissing. And... and...”

The smile breaks on her face, and only then, you realize she’s messing with you.

“Is that so?” she says, and you want to shove her and pull her back against you at the same time.

When your eyes meet hers, the joke fades quick enough, though. Shelby swallows thickly, steps forward to brush her fingers against your arm. “It’s just that you kept pulling back.”

You blink hard, your mind racing, stumbling over different ways to tell her what her touch does to you. That you were trying to keep yourself under control. That every inch of your body is humming with desire and if she wants what you want, then—

“I want to,” you say, hoping she can hear how true it is. “Whatever you want, or don’t want. That’s... really the only thing I care about. It’s all cool with me.” 

She runs her hand down to yours, squeezes it. “I know it’s considered a sin...” You think she needs to say it out loud, needs to make it real for a second. “But what you said, that thing about expectations... I’m—I’m my own person, you know?” Her voice gets stronger. “And I know my relationship with God and what it means, and—” She arches her eyebrow, unintentionally, but it hits you all the same when she adds, “—and technically, masturbation is also a sin, and I’ve definitely done that, so.”

You can’t stop the breathy sound that leaves your lips.

Shelby’s gaze hooks onto yours, that beautiful, breathtaking green, and your mind is skipping fast and recklessly. Running away to _bath jets at our home jacuzzi,_ to the thought of her, naked and arching, all her skin on display—

She seems to see it on your face because her expression changes to something confident and just a little bit reckless. She takes another slow step closer, hand curling around your hip, almost possessively. Your skin feels hot all over and the way she runs a finger up the side of your waist is wildly distracting.

“Many times, actually,” she says, her lips close to yours. “I’ve touched myself many times. If you wanted to know.” 

“ _Shelby_.”

“And now...” she says. “I want you to do it. I want you to touch me.” She brushes her mouth against yours, the ghost of a kiss. “So, will you please—”

You close the gap, swallowing the end of the question.

It heats up quickly, then, thrilling through your body. Shelby takes your hand and places it against the front of her bra, letting you cup her over the fabric. She arches into it, gasping softly and you can’t resist the smooth skin of her neck, so you bend forward. Her fingers end up tangled in your hair, messing up your ponytail as you leave hot-mouthed kisses all over her throat until she’s squirming against you. Her breathing is getting more uneven by the minute and her fingers begin to hook under your bra, like she’s trying to get it off but struggling to really commit.

You smile a little, pulling back from her and running a finger under your own bra strap, snapping it as her gaze drops to your chest. “Want this off?”

She nods, breathlessly.

Your grin widens. “Take it off, then, Shelby.”

Her eyes darken and you lift your arms, like you did when she got you out of your tank top earlier. It’s mostly bravado, the way you invite her to do it, because when Shelby finally gets her fingers fully under the elastic underwire of your bra and starts pulling it up, your breath catches at the back of your throat.

You feel a little self-conscious when she looks at you.

You know you’re sunburnt in strange places, sweaty and covered in sand and grime and dust. The side of your neck is sticky from where the lychee juice dripped down. Not to mention that you’ve always been slight and kind of wiry, not exactly soft or curvy, or—

“God,” Shelby breathes out.

You feel shaky.

“Is that good or bad?” you mumble, laughing a little to play off your nerves.

Not once, in your whole life, have you felt the need to be validated be someone else. Not once. Not even by Regan. But somehow, you need her to tell you. You need to hear her say it out loud, that she wants this and that she wants you, and that, dirty and sweaty and gross, she does think you’re worth looking at, that you’re—

“Beautiful,” she whispers, kissing your collarbone. “God, Toni.”

And then, she does something bold.

She pulls you to the ground.

It’s a bit awkward. You’re not sure how to position yourself and you feel half the need to cover yourself up, but Shelby somehow finds the softest bit of ground, where the earth is covered in leaves and dried grass and pulls you right into her lap.

She kisses you that way, kisses you with her fingers on your throat, until you’re sinking into it, until the tension leaves your shoulders and your body starts to melt against hers—and that’s when Shelby runs her hand lower.

It’s soft and searching, the way she traces your breasts with her fingers. You’re sensitive here and you’re getting wet from it; you can tell from the way your leggings are starting to cling to you, the subtle urge to rock your hips down. 

You want to be embarrassed, but Shelby doesn’t leave you any space.

She keeps kissing you, keeps pulling you close, keeps breathing soft, quiet things into the skin of your neck when you tip your head back.

Eventually, the need to touch her back becomes too overwhelming.

Your nails drag slowly over Shelby’s ribs and she makes a noise that almost sounds like a moan.

“Can I?” you say, pulling on the fabric.

She nods shakily. “Y-yeah.”

The sun has lowered quite a bit, the light golden and soft, some of the burning heat softening around you. You drop the pink thing somewhere behind her, already forgetting about it the moment she’s topless in front of you.

“Fuck...”

You don’t mean to swear—you know you already tend to do it way too much.

But _fuck._

Shelby blushes and bites down on her bottom lip. She leans back on her hands and glances sideways, avoiding your eyes. She looks absolutely gorgeous. You want to tell her, but the word feels too big. So, instead, you breathe out the only other words that come to mind, which turns out to be a non-coherent string of mostly nonsense. 

“Shelby—” Your trail your fingers down from her shoulder, watching goosebumps rise. “Oh my god—just... _God_.”

“Is that good or bad?” she jokes, but you can hear the quiver in her voice.

You tip her chin up, kiss her.

“Good,” you whisper, your weight shifting forward. “So, so good.”

She hums against your mouth in pleasure and you feel the giddy excitement of it burning in your chest.

After a moment, Shelby shifts her legs under you, and you break away from the kiss, realizing that she’s toeing off her sandals. For some reason it makes your throat go dry. You curse yourself for blushing. They’re _sandals_ , for fuck’s sake. But the implication. The suggestion that you’re going through with this, whatever this is, wherever it’s leading—

Shelby starts untying your vans, too, smiling at you in this way that’s both mischievous and a little shy. She throws your shoes to the side, leaves your dirt-stained socks for what they are, and wraps her arms around your neck instead, pulling you down.

When your bare skin meets hers, your mind fogs over. Everything turns hot and needy and just a little bit out of control in mere moments. You can’t help the way your hips shift when Shelby mouths at your neck, can’t help the way your fingers tighten on the waistband of her shorts. Kissing like this, wrapped around each other on the ground, makes you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

And then—

_Jesus._

She rolls you over just like that, her leg sliding right between yours, and you know it’s not purpose, but—

“ _Fuck,_ ” you breathe out. “Fuck, Shelby, okay—”

She blinks at you, confirming your suspicion that she doesn’t even know how turned on you really are. You shudder, can’t fucking hold back on the way your hips cant, just a little bit, how your ankle hooks around her calf, keeping her leg right where it’s pressed between yours, and—

Shelby grins, realization dawning.

She pushes her leg forward, just a bit, just to try it out. You have to bite on your bottom lip not to groan.

“Feels kinda familiar, doesn’t it?” she says, then.

Your breathing is ragged. “What?”

She kisses you, lips parted and tongue sliding against yours for a hot, teasing second, before she pulls back to grin at you. “Me on top of you.”

You are pretty sure she’s going to be the death of you.

“Last time was less fun,” you manage to get out.

Shelby flexes her thigh, and you don’t know where she’s learning all of this so quickly, but you gasp, writhing against her. She does it again, presses a sweet and teasing kiss to your lips as she says, eyes glinting in the light, “Oh, you’re having fun, are you?”

It’s enough to make you arch against her. “Maybe you should feel how much.”

The words have left your mouth before you can take them back, but Shelby’s expression is worth every second of embarrassment.

She presses a kiss to your jaw, and then says her next words, right into your neck. “Maybe _you_ should show me.”

It makes you moan. Makes you screw your eyes shut, feeling so turned on at the thought of what she’s offering that you can barely stop from grinding against her.

“Are you—”

“Yes,” she says. “I’m sure, Toni.”

It turns into a bit of a fumble, then. Your leggings are tight and difficult to get off, and Shelby—for all of her boldness—suddenly gets kind of quiet when you’re stripped to just your underwear. It’s a pair of Fatin’s, too, which makes it so much worse. Black and thin, and way too lacy.

_Way too pretty_ , you think. _Like you’re wearing them on purpose._

But Shelby is looking at you like it’s not a bad thing at all, and though it makes you feel self-conscious, it’s also really hot. She runs her hand over your bare stomach, and your abs jump against her fingertips in anticipation. Her nail brushes against the edge of your panties, making you swallow hard.

“Should I take ‘em off?” you breathe out.

Shelby goes red, but the thought of getting completely naked seems to overwhelm both of you at the same time. So before she can confirm or deny, you just reach for her hand and squeeze it tightly. 

“Tell me if it’s—” Shelby starts. “If it’s not—”

“I’m so turned on.” Your voice is hoarse. “Really, Shelby, I’m _so..._ ” She kisses your neck and it makes you breathless. “...into this.”

It’s not the most graceful of admissions, but Shelby’s eyes glint — and then she’s running her hand down, doesn’t tease, just slides her fingers right into your underwear.

Everything feels very sharp and very real for a second.

She doesn’t really do anything, just touches you softly, fingertips against where you’re wet for her, and your heart leaps up wildly in your chest. A rush of nerves that you haven’t felt in a while rises in your stomach. Your eyes squeeze shut as Shelby slowly slides over you and your body starts to zone in on her touch.

Momentarily, you’re overwhelmed and shaky, and the absurd thought crosses your mind that this is a first for you too; that you’ve never had sex outside before, only on mattresses, and now you’re here. Plane-crashed and dirty, waterfall-showered and exposed.

Shelby’s looking at you with soft concentration, all pretty and flushed, and you feel close to bursting out of your skin from how much you care about her being into this.

“Are you good?” you breathe out. “Are you—”

She kisses you.

You haven’t been the very center of someone’s attention for a long, long time. It makes you feel like an exposed wire—all jumpy energy and spark and heat. But she kisses you, slow and steady, and it grounds you into the moment in a way you didn’t think you needed.

“God,” she whispers against your lips. “We’re really doing this.”

You nod.

_Yes._

Yes, you are. 

It’s a bit messy and uncoordinated. You’re not going to come from this, but for some reason that’s the last thing you care about. All you want is to feel her close to you like this, half on top of you, her mouth still sweet as the lychees.

“You feel good,” she whispers, soft and reverend, almost surprised.

It tightens in your body. She slides over and through you, drawing all these breathy sounds from your mouth, and it starts to build a bit, desire rising and rising. She seems to want it in a way that is making you shiver, in a way that goes beyond experience and nerves and exploration.

“ _Shelby_...”

She circles your clit and it’s unexpected and almost accidental and so fucking _hot_ that you can’t suppress the shiver of pleasure that rocks through your body.

“That’s—” Your voice is hoarse, even more so than usual. “ _Fuck_ —keep doing that—”

She does it again and your mind blanks with how _good_ it feels.

“Will you—” she starts. “Will you show me how to—”

You nod shakily, though you’ve got half a mind to tell her to just keep doing this. To tell her that you could easily waste a whole afternoon away here in the sun with her and let her figure it all out for herself. That you don’t care about getting off as much as you care about how much you like feeling her on top of you.

Still, you do what she asks.

You slide your own hand down, covering hers, and then you show her; circles and rhythm and dipping down.

To watch the way your body responds, seems to drive Shelby a little crazy.

“God,” she keeps saying. “You feel so good. So good, Toni. So hot and—”

You don’t think she means to talk to you like this, but the _effect_ is unbelievable. Your head tips back and you can barely get enough air into your lungs.

She’s touching you like she cares to do it. Like she wants you to feel good. Like you matter. 

“Please,” you breathe out, completely unsteady. “Please, will you go—”

The word _inside_ gets lost, when Shelby’s fingers slide away from yours and she does just that. She’s slow and precise. A quick learner. Watching your face to see what happens when she touches you in different ways.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. Everything starts building, heat and tension and the desire to rock yourself harder onto her fingers, to let everything tighten and rise and—

“You’re so good,” she says, kissing the side of your neck. “Feels so good to touch you.”

And then her mouth closes right over your nipple and the force of your orgasm seems to take both of you by surprise.

She almost immediately withdraws her fingers and you wince at the sudden movement, gasp for breath as the waves of pleasure are cut off a little unsatisfactory. But Shelby is right there, still pressed against you, still got her lips against your chest.

You shudder a little as you breathe out, “Jesus, Shelby, do you say your prayers with that mouth...”

It’s meant to break the intensity of it. It’s meant to shake you both out of this overwhelming rush of feeling. But Shelby, when you meet her eyes, is only staring at you with a mesmerizing sort of look.

She smiles a little. “Are you okay?”

“God, yes.”

You push yourself up to your elbows to kiss her. Your whole body is still tingling. It’s a bit desperate, all teeth and tongue, and she must be able to feel that you’re trying to push past the moment a bit quicker than necessary. Must be able to feel that something’s unhooked in the center of your chest and you’re not quite sure how to deal with it, because she slows you down. Pulls back after a moment and says, “Are you really? You seem a little—” 

It feels backwards.

Like you should have been the one to touch _her._ The one who should be asking her if she’s okay, not the other way around. It’s a spike of insecurity, of being exposed, quick and sudden. A spike of vulnerability that she got you unraveled so fast, so easily. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe out. “Really.”

She gives you a look and then she says. “You know I’m right here, right? I’m not going to run away this time.” 

You stare at her, barely registering that she’s read you better than you read yourself, that she somehow knows exactly what is running through your mind before you’ve even _allowed_ yourself to think about it.

She runs a hand up your arm, cupping your cheek. The sun has sunk lower, but the air around you is still warm.

“I promise,” she says. “Right here.”

She gets to her feet, then, and you blink, awfully confused for a second at how contradictory it seems. But then she starts grabbing the lychees from the branches again, handing you a couple with a smile. She’s topless and stunning, and you can barely speak.

“What?” she says. “Don’t look so shocked. We’re just taking a little break.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself. “A break?”

Her eyes lock on yours and now it’s her time to look confused. “Oh, I thought... Are we done already?”

Realization hits.

“ _No._ ” It sounds way too eager, even to your own ears. “No, I just—I didn’t want to assume...”

She flashes you a smile and the whole thing heats up, just like that. She sits down in front of you and you want to kiss her. Want to lose yourself in her all over again.

“Eat,” she says. “Come on.”

She peels one of the lychees and holds the fruit out for you. You reach out your hand but she shakes her head, the movement miniscule, but you feel it through your whole body.

_Oh. Okay._

You lean forward, taking a hold of her wrist instead. When the tip of your tongue flicks against her finger, she bites down on her bottom lip. You shift closer, taking the fruit in your mouth, eating it right out of her hand.

“So good,” you mumble right against her fingertips.

Shelby drops the lychee just like that and kisses you. In moments, you’ve got your hand running through the mess of her hair.

“Short break,” you say against her mouth.

“Are you complaining?” she fires back, not even giving you a chance before kissing you again.

It’s different this time. You feel more settled, less frantic. It’s your turn to press her down to the ground and slip your leg right between her thighs. Shelby’s hair is getting tangled on the twigs, but she doesn’t seem to care. She sighs into your mouth and takes a hold of your hips. Your bare thighs keep sliding together in a way that’s got you instantly turned on again. Problem is, her shorts are kind of in the way.

“Can I take these off you?” you say.

She nods. 

Of course, the goddamn fucking buttons are out to give you a hard time, though.

“Why are there, like, four?” you huff out, fumbling as you hook your thumb on the second one and it doesn’t give way. The fact that Shelby keeps kissing up the side of your neck doesn’t make it any easier.

“Christian contraception,” she says, smirking against your skin.

It’s so fucking smartass that your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god,” you laugh.

Shelby winks and you like her so much. So goddamn much.

Your laugh gets cuts short, though, when she decides to take matters into her own hands. With quick fingers — fingers that she used to make you come only minutes ago — she flicks all of the buttons open and drags the shorts down her legs, until she’s in her underwear, too.

It’s a simple light blue pair. You don’t know if they’re her own or if they’re someone else’s, but any thought about the other girls gets wiped from your mind the second you notice how dark and damp they are at the front.

“Fuck,” you swear under your breath.

Shelby is blushing, bites her lip back and runs a hand through her hair—and then she’s pulling you in, kissing you again.

You lose yourself in the way she feels, can’t keep yourself from kissing her neck, and then lower, running your mouth from her collarbone down to her chest. You hover over her nipples for a second, uncertain if she wants you to or not. But then Shelby’s hand fists into your hair and it’s enough of a hint. She gasps when you use your mouth, arches into you, and you don’t mean to do it, exactly, but your leg slips right between her thighs, and—

“ _Oh,_ ” she says. “Oh, gosh.”

Her accent is more pronounced, somehow.

“Is that good?” you say, “Do you want me to—”

She rocks her hips up, creating more friction. You groan into her neck, and Shelby trembles against you, the rhythm of her hips speeding up just a bit.

You want to—

You want to feel her—

“Can I touch you?” you say. “Please?”

She blushes a deep red, but then nods. You kiss your way down, kiss her ribs, wanting to feel the rise and fall of her breath. You kiss her stomach, your hands digging hard into her hips as you run your tongue over the piercing in her bellybutton, and she _moans._ You kiss the fabric of her underwear before you’ve fully thought it through, and—

“ _Fuck,_ ” Shelby swears, hips snapping up. “Toni—”

It drives you crazy. To hear her say your name like that. The reminder that it’s _you_ she’s doing this with and that she’s fully aware of it.

“I can stop if you don’t want—”

“I want it,” she says. “Please, just—just—”

You hook your thumbs into the elastic of her underwear and pull it down. It ends up dangling off one ankle but you’re too busy taking her in to do anything about it.

At the back of your mind, a memory takes hold. You feel shy about it, suddenly—about the dumb thing with the mussels. It’s not that you haven’t actually done this — you _have_ — but you made such a show about it, and you want Shelby—

You want this to be good for her.

Her fingers drop down and she squeezes your hand tight. “Please, God... I’m so—”

It burns right through you, the neediness in her voice, the way she’s lost control of whatever she was trying to hold onto before, just canting her hips up to you.

You press your mouth to the inside of her thigh. When you lick up higher, she gasps.

“Oh— _oh._ ”

It sounds pitched and girly and you didn’t think you’d be into it but—

God.

You want to learn her slowly, but Shelby isn’t really giving you a chance. Her legs drop open and she pulls on your hand kind of desperately, and when you put your mouth on her, everything blurs.

Your whole consciousness zones in on the taste of her, the sounds she makes, how quickly everything builds.

When you bring your fingers up and run them through her softly, Shelby arches off the ground in a way that will have you losing sleep for at least a week.

You start slow. Still letting her dictate what happens next.

But what happens next is that she turns into a swearing, writhing mess against you—and all you want is for her to feel what you felt before. That she’s beautiful. That she’s good. That she matters. 

“That’s it,” you say. “God—”

You almost call her _baby_ but you swallow the word back just in time.

When she comes, it’s quiet and trembling, and it makes you feel proud in a way you haven’t in a long, long time.

“God,” she says. “ _God._ ”

You smile just a little bit. “Yeah?”

She shoves you, but it’s affectionate and counter-effective, because the next thing she does is pull you close so you can kiss her again. The sun has dropped behind the hill, and you’re so far from camp, so far from anything other than her hand stroking softly up the side of your arm and her breathing uneven.

You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

:::

It’s only moments later, though, when Shelby says, “You don’t mind, do you? That I—”

“Hm?”

“That I didn’t—” She cuts herself short, pressing her face into your shoulder. “That I only used... my fingers.”

Your breath catches at the back of your throat. “Shelby.”

“Not that I don’t want to,” she rushes. “Because—well, I think I—” She bites on her bottom lip, cutting herself off, but the implication makes your stomach flutter uncontrollably. “It’s just that it’s a bit much for now, so I hope you don’t...”

“Hey,” you say. “It’s cool. Really. You don’t have to explain.” You make yourself look her in the eyes, even though it makes you shy. “And you don’t... I mean, you don’t have to do that. Not at all.”

She runs her fingers over your abs. “Okay.”

It’s innocent for a moment, just mindless patterns. But then her fingers dip a little lower, just under the elastic again, and your breath stutters.

Shelby immediately picks up on it. She bites on her bottom lip, and then slides her fingers lower. Your heart starts racing.

“Not at all, huh?” she says, softly, as she runs her fingers through you.

You’re still wet.

“Shelby...”

“How about just a little bit?” she says, pulling her hand out of your underwear and bringing her fingers right to her lips.

Your whole body shivers as you watch her tongue flick against her fingertips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you swear. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

She laughs, wide and open, and then kisses you again.

:::

Night drops fast.

You’ve both put your clothes back on but it’s way too dark to make your way back to camp again, so the only thing you can do is lie down on the ground where you just had sex and fall asleep here.

You’re not touching anymore, but you can feel the press of Shelby’s pinky finger against yours as you lie next to each other.

The sky is vast and dark, stars everywhere.

“Are you looking?” Shelby says.

You nod, but then because she can’t see that, you say, “Do you see that bright one? The one that’s just a bit different from the rest? It glows kind of orange.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“I’m pretty sure that’s, ah—” You fumble with the hem of your tank top. “I mean, I _am_ sure. It’s a star called Antares. It’s a supergiant, actually. That’s why we can see it glow that clearly.”

Shelby is quiet next to you.

You bring your hand up, pointing. “See that weird little tail it’s connected to? That’s Scorpius, the constellation.”

The way Shelby inhales is soft, but you hear it loud and clear.

“I thought you said you didn’t give a fuck about not going,” she says. “To the planetarium.”

It gets caught in your throat, the fact that she remembers.

“Well, I lied,” you say. “I did want to go.”

Her pinky finger brushes against yours, full intention now.

“How do you know these things?” she says, then.

“Martha’s mom has a book. And I—I couldn’t sleep much in the beginning, right after we crashed. It took me a few days to find Antares. But then you just follow the lines and... you see the constellation.”

She rolls over and presses her mouth to your shoulder, just the quickest, briefest of kisses.

It’s the last time she will do that for a while. Tomorrow, the panic and doubt will kick in. You’ll wake up to her feeling tense and uncertain, fumbling with the silver cross around her neck. You’ll get back to the rest of the girls and watch Shelby stumble through the absolute worst lie you’ve ever seen someone tell to explain your absence. She’ll avoid your eyes and give you space, not asking what she wants to ask. Until finally, she’ll decide to give in and be brave, and kiss you up on the rock by the beach, a last moment of bliss, before you will hear Rachel’s scream and—

But that’s tomorrow.

For now, you will fall asleep to the steady way she breathes and the sight of the stars.

And whatever happens tomorrow, can wait a little bit longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Hope this was fun? Let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> In other news: we are getting a second season!!
> 
> Things I will never get over:  
> 1\. Shelby's navel piercing which I honest to god only noticed on my re-watch today  
> 2\. The way Toni did a full 180 and turned from a angry ball of fire into a soft, teenage mess once Shelby kissed her  
> 3\. How they got their hands on all the lychees and just left their starving friends to die in order to have sex first
> 
> If you want to come yell about this show and these characters with me, hit me up on tumblr: e-lec-tric-in-di-go.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:
> 
> Part two will be the scene under the lychee tree so stay tuned. How much are these two messing with our heads? Leave a comment or come yell at me on tumblr: e-lec-tric-in-di-go.


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